Gabriel
by veritaserum804
Summary: "It's the things we love the most that destroy us." Spot/OC Spot Conlon/OC
1. Prologue

**July 21** **st** **, 1902**

Marie Doherty struck a match and lit the cigar in her hand, "When you're young you think you're gonna live forever."

She threw the match to the street and examined the cigar for a moment, taking only one puff herself, the smoke leaving her mouth slowly as she exhaled. Her eyes suddenly calmed and became heavy as she held it out to the man standing behind her. He was in the shadows and you couldn't quite make out his face, but his presence was familiar and ominous as a thick cloud of smoke flowed seamlessly from his parted lips soon after.

Jack Kelly stood rooted to the spot in front of her, "Yeah well…you ain't exactly old."

Her expression was still calm when she answered him, "I'm younger than you by two years actually."

That meant she was only 18. He said nothing in response, only scanned her face, wondering just how much she knew.

She grinned, "Oh I know _all_ about you Jackie boy. I know who you used to be….I know what you are now…' she looked down feigning disappointment, paused, and then looked back up at him again sighing, "and I know what you did.'

Suddenly the man in the shadows behind her stepped forward and revealed himself.

His piercing blue eyes gave him away first, and then a resolve Jack had only ever seen once before in his life.

In one quick motion Spot Conlon grabbed the hilt of the knife in Marie's pocket, stepped forward once more and stabbed his oldest friend Jack in the chest.


	2. Marie I

**13 MONTHS BEFORE**

I was seven years old the first time I laid eyes on Spot Conlon.

Ten years later and there I was back where I knew I'd find him, wondering if he would even remember me…angry too at the thought that he might not.

It was thundering out, pouring rain and night time in the middle of the summer. The temperature had dropped but it wasn't cold enough for me to start shivering. Yet.

For the first time in a long time I was genuinely scared. The Brooklyn Bridge is two miles long and I ran the whole way. I didn't stop once. I _couldn't_ stop. See, I was being chased. Miss Beckett sent the bulls after me when she caught me running away. I had nothing on me, just the plain black dress that the boarding school had given me.

By the time I got to the docks I could hardly breathe. I saw the light on in the pub, heard the noise of the crowd of newsies inside and bolted for the door. I'm pretty sure I knocked one of the little ones over when I shoved past everybody but I didn't care, I had one aim in mind. Don't get caught.

In the commotion of the catcalls and jeers that ensued I ran behind the bar and hid underneath it, silently begging the bartender not to reveal I was there. He was an aged man, probably sympathetic to runaways given he ran a bar that catered to newsies.

The bulls came in, four of them in all, their clubs out, caught off guard by the boys and men in the room clearly all too comfortable defying authority.

The bartender took one look at them and one quick glance down at me, then spoke up, "How can I be of service to ya officers?"

"We're looking for a girl. Think she mighta run in here. Name's Marie Doherty. Any of you boys seen her?"

There's an unwritten rule among all of us: you never side with the bulls on anything, no matter what.

The bartender answered him calmly, "Sorry officers, I ain't seen no girl come in here. Any of you boys know a Marie Doherty?"

A chorus of "No's" answered him back, some followed by laughing. And then a couple of them, clearly drunk, started singing Óró Sé Do Bheatha Bhaile at the top of their lungs prompting the officers to shout something about filthy micks and finally leave.

The bulls hated us Irish. And these ones came all the way from Manhattan. That means they hated us even more. No one comes to Brooklyn unless they have to. They know better.

 _Then_ I started shivering. I couldn't even get myself to stand up, my legs were useless and my hair was soaking wet, clinging to my face and dress.

The bartender looked down at me and then moved out of the way as three men approached us. Two of them I didn't recognize at all but the third one I knew all too well. His piercing light blue eyes looked right through me and then wandered to the scar across my left cheek. All I could do was stare back.

He knew me well once. We met when we were kids at the orphanage. We had both been abandoned by our parents. In those days we swore we'd stay alive just to give them all hell for it…

One of the ones I didn't know cocked a smile, "Well well lookie here boys. What do we do with this one?"

Spot knelt down before me. My eyes went first to the key hanging around his neck and then to everything else. What a difference ten years can make. Perpetually underfed he was almost as emaciated looking as me once. Now the red suspenders he was wearing over his checkered button down shirt could barely contain the lean muscles underneath. I guess years of bare knuckle boxing will do that to you. Not to mention being the leader of New York's most notorious gang of newsies means you're eating better than most of us.

"How'd ya get that ugly scar on ya face kid?'

Relief. And a bit of anger. He knows I hate being called kid. Or at least he used to.

"You're only two years older than me don't call me kid."

He looked at me for a moment, jaw clenched, recalculating something in his head. The others held shocked expressions, wondering how in the world anyone, let alone a female, got away with talking back to Spot Conlon.

He stood back up and looked down at me again, "What do you want Marie?"

I swallowed hard, indignant, "...I have nowhere else to go."

He took a freshly rolled cigarette out from his pocket and lit it right in front of me, taking his damn sweet time, "Well, seein' as you ain't a kid no more,' he took a long drag, 'and I ain't seen or heard from you in somethin' like 10 years, I gotta ask, why should I let you stay here?"

With every passing second I shivered more and more. "Because I…I'll take care of things for you here, I'll sell papes, whatever you want me to do I'll do it.' He looked like he was actually starting to pity me now, 'Spot…please…"

Visibly irritated he narrowed his eyes at me, " _Get up."_

I did as he asked.

"Go upstairs...You can stay there for now."

I wanted to kiss his feet in gratitude, I felt about as vulnerable. My head was starting to spin, the smell of smoke and liquor overwhelming me, "Thanks."

He didn't say anything back just looked at me, his brow furrowed, those eyes following me with every step I took.


	3. Marie II

The upstairs Spot described was actually an attic full of moth balls and trunks filled with old clothes and blankets. God only knows how long they'd been there. To be honest I didn't really care. I actually tend to like that musty smell. Smells like home, or something like it. Not that I would know, I've never really had a home.

I grabbed the only dress I could find, there was no lining in it at all and the skirt fell straight down at my waist. The top was long-sleeved but very tight and a bit more low-cut down the front than I was used to. I had just finished putting it on when I caught a glimpse of myself in the dirty mirror across the room. I moved closer to get a better look. The rain had washed away the ashes and dirt from the street that usually stained my face and my hair was finally starting to dry. I looked pale though. My skin had always been fair but right now I could've been dead.

For some reason it was then that it hit me, where I was…who I had just spoken to…whose mercy I was now under...

And then I passed out.

No not figuratively, literally.

I came in and out a few times, kept hearing fragments of conversation…

" _Is she dead?"_

" _No she ain't dead you idiot she's breathin'"_

" _Why's she on the floor then?"_

" _Somebody better go get Spot."_

" _What for?"_

" _Whaddya mean what for?! He knows her!"_

" _You sure about that?"_

" _Yeah I'm sure about that, we seen him talkin' to her last night didn't we Skittery?"_

" _Spot talks to a lot of girls..."_

" _No no, not like that, this was different."_

That's the last thing I remember hearing before I knocked out again.

It was the smell of sulfur from a lit match that finally woke me up completely.

I sat up slowly only to find two men looking at me like I was some kind of wild creature they'd never seen before.

My eyes were wide and I clenched my jaw in spite of myself. Then Spot entered the room and they both turned to face him.

He was hungover, it showed in the dark circles under his eyes, but the piercing severity of his stare couldn't be more pronounced if he tried.

He dragged over a chair, turned it backwards and sat facing me.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"…I don't remember."

"Don't lie to me." Spot didn't need to yell to command authority.

I was in no position to ask for anything…but it had been two days and all I'd eaten was a stale piece of bread. He looked furious and I couldn't quite figure out why.

"Two days ago."

He adjusted the cap on his head, seemed to be fighting back something and stood back up.

"You're not stayin' up here."

He grabbed my arm none too gently and pulled me up from the floor and started dragging me from the room. I rushed to keep up with his pace as the others watched, more than just a little interested as he continued to drag me outside.

He turned around sharply for a moment, his face far too close, _"Don't talk to anybody and don't look at anybody you understand?"_

I grit my teeth and nodded my head.

He kept pulling me until we got to the docks. Everybody stared but it was so bright out and so oppressively hot I could hardly even make out their expressions.

We got to the bridge and that's when I started to struggle. Just seeing it made me relive everything from yesterday and there was no way in hell I was going back.

He felt me start and turned around nearly knocking me over. When I fought him he picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder, his arm around my skirt and a tight grip on the back of my legs to keep me from falling as he continued on towards the bridge.

I was yelling now of course, asking him to put me down, but it didn't make any difference. I was weak, hungry, dehydrated, and even if I hadn't been he would always be stronger than me.

He made a sharp turn away from the base of the bridge and started walking downwards until we were underneath it. I could see the sand underneath his shoes and the water of the East River just beyond it.

Finally he stopped and abruptly brought me back down on my feet.

I don't know how it happened because the heat was getting to me, but the next thing I knew he was forcing me to sit and drink. One sip of water and I already felt my headache start to dissipate. One piece of fresh bread and I could feel again, everything started to become clearer. In the madness of it all I didn't notice he was just silently watching me eat, checking over his shoulder every five seconds too.

"Take it easy there or you'll make yourself sick."

When he saw me stop eating and start to stare back at him, his focus rested only on me, and again he looked angry, "Ya know…I'm not starvin' anymore Marie,' he knelt down until he was level with me, '…looks like you still are though."

For a minute I felt shame, and my face probably showed as much, but then all at once all I could feel was fury.

 _"Well what exactly did you want me to do Spot? You left me there remember?"_

He didn't even hesitate when he answered, "You couldn't do what I did."

"You don't know that."

He paused, then shook his head and smirked like he knew better, "You wanna stay here you're gonna do as I say you understand?"

I scowled, defiant, then finally gave a half nod.

"Nah that's not good enough."

He turned my chin so I was forced to look at him. He wasn't rough but he wasn't exactly gentle either.

" _I said_ _do you understand?"_

I stared back into those eyes that had more power than I think he realized and answered, "I do."

"Good. Now go get some sleep…and stay away from me."

He let go of my chin, scanned me over once more and walked away, the sting of his words still aching in their wake.


	4. Marie III

Everything you've heard about Spot Conlon is true. And despite my saying otherwise he was right, I could never have done what he did.

When Spot left the orphanage he went back to the only place he could remember anything good: Brooklyn. It's where he was born and where he spent the first few years of his life taken care of by his grandmother until she died.

When the city found him he was alone in her half dilapidated apartment, near starved to death. His mother was nowhere to be found. She was from Cúil Aodha in County Cork and only 15 when she got pregnant out of wedlock.

She tried getting rid of the baby herself but Spot's grandmother, a devout Catholic, caught on to what she was trying to do, put a stop to it and dragged her out by her hair to the doorstep of the man she knew to be the father. Holy show it was, half the town heard the banging on the door and the yelling.

The sad truth was that Spot's father wanted nothing to do with his unborn son.

In an act of desperation to escape the shame, Spot's mother and grandmother got on the next ship to New York City. And where did they end up? This godforsaken borough.

After Spot ran away from the orphanage the first thing he did was start selling papes. And when he did he hustled harder than all the others combined. He was hungry, in more ways than one, and it showed.

Wasn't long before word started getting around about this new kid Conlon, the one who sold 500 papes a day and never lost a fight. Aidan didn't like that very much.

Aidan Turner was the leader back then. And he was hated by everyone who knew him. He would soak his own boys if they looked at him the wrong way, didn't protect them at all, and took a cut of their pay at the end of the day. Said he was using it for their accommodations, food and such, but that was never true. He spent it on women and liquor. Word was he was trying to save up whatever was left to go back to Ireland.

Anyway Spot never fell in line like he was supposed to and when Aidan confronted him about it Spot refused to bend.

Now Aidan, being the ruthless bastard that he was, decided he would make an example out of him. Little did he know that would turn out to be the biggest mistake of his life.

One day when Spot got back from selling he saw Aidan waiting for him. No one can seem to remember who threw the first punch but everyone remembers the beatings they gave each other. It was particularly vicious and at one point Spot was hurt real bad. He was skinny then too, didn't have as much weight on him as he does now but he was scrappy, it didn't usually affect him but this time it did.

When he was down, Aidan kicked him hard in the ribs and one of the younger boys, Riley, who looked up to Spot, ran in trying to help. Aidan grabbed him and threw Riley back so hard he hit the pavement and snapped his neck.

From ten feet away, barely breathing, Spot saw Riley's eyes close for the last time.

After that it was over.

He got up like a man possessed and he fought Aidan blind…felt absolutely nothing. The punches didn't hurt anymore, the sound had been turned down, and the adrenaline was keeping his ribs from aching.

All he could feel was rage.

By the time it was all said and done his hands were covered in blood and Aidan wasn't breathing.

Out of breath and close to passing out he grabbed the key on the rope around Aidan's neck and tied it around his own.

When he stood up and looked around him he saw every single Brooklyn newsie staring at him with something like reverence.

After that nothing was ever the same.

He was 15 years old.


	5. The Only Exception

The brown freckles across her cheeks did well hiding that massive scar he had trouble looking away from. He felt somehow responsible for it even though he hadn't determined where it came from yet.

He had told her to stay away from him for a reason. Many reasons in fact. The closer she was to him the less he'd be able to ensure her safety. That's just the way it had to be. And if he was being completely honest there were other more selfish reasons too. She had gotten under his skin years ago and he'd never quite forgotten it. Didn't exactly make him feel warm and fuzzy having her around reminding him of that.

It didn't help either that she grew up to have the face of an angel. She was never ugly before, but now…well, let's just say the scar made no difference at all.

Every once in a while when he was sure she couldn't see him he'd let his eyes linger. She was hard to miss being that she was the only one with long hair and _not_ in an eight panel. Wavy dirty blonde hair to be exact…and hazel eyes the likes of which he'd never seen on any other girl before.

Ah well, it was for the best that she stay away, he didn't want to go gettin' soft now.

After all he wasn't supposed to have any feelings…

"Heya Spot."

"Hey Race." He surveyed his friend who was staring out at Governor's Island like there was something there that no one else could see but him.

"What are you lookin' at?"

"Not a damn thing." Racetrack took his hat off and finger combed his disheveled hair.

Spot furrowed his brow for a moment, then leaned back against the docks and waited. Whenever Race got like this he was like a sieve just dyin' to tell somebody whatever crazy thought was runnin' through his mind.

"Ya know I was thinkin',' he looked at Spot then back out at the island as he put his hat back on, '…do you think God'll forgive us for what we've done?"

Spot raised one eyebrow and looked at Race, keeping his face expressionless as he said matter of factly, "…No."

Not that far away Marie was standing.

Spot turned away from the pained expression on Race's face and looked ahead of him, catching sight of her immediately. There was color in her cheeks now he noticed and she'd filled out well since being here. Maybe a little too well in his opinion based on that dress she was wearin'. It had only been about two weeks but eating and drinking regularly had made quite a difference.

Then he noticed something that made him decidedly less pleased. There was a kid on her hip, one of the younger ones, only about three years old. They had found him abandoned in the street by the Queens border about a month ago. Now there he was leaning against her shoulder as happy as can be.

Spot kept his gaze on her waiting for her to feel his eyes watching so she'd turn and look at him. Sure enough out of the corner of her eye she could sense him and when she shifted she saw him staring imploringly with a frightening look on his face.

She tensed up as he motioned for her to come over to him. It would be the first time she was face to face with him since that day under the bridge and she braced herself as she approached him.

Reluctantly and without putting the child down she met him where he stood with his back against the docks, Racetrack at his side, looking at her with hardly masked curiosity.

Spot locked eyes with her and only her and spoke in that signature commanding voice, "What do you think you're doin' Marie?"

Her jaw clenched but she stood firm, "…What do you mean _Spot_?"

The child looked up at Spot now, his eyes wide as he clutched onto Marie even tighter.

Spot narrowed his eyes at the kid and then looked back at Marie, "Eamon,' the child sat up upon hearing his name and Spot turned his attention toward him now, "Eamon who is this?" He pointed to Marie.

Brow furrowed Marie watched as the child said nothing. She knew why he wasn't answering him of course and smirked.

With one eyebrow cocked Spot spoke to the child again, his voice raised now, "Eamon atá sí? Cé hé an cailín seo?"

The kid had only just come over on a boat from Dublin. He understood a little English but refused to speak it, he only spoke Irish.

Finally Eamon answered him, "Máthair."

Anger flashed beneath Spot's eyes and Race took a step away from the two of them.

"What's he callin' you mother for?" He asked calmly but it was too calm and she knew better.

Starting to pace back a bit she stumbled slightly, "I don't know whyprobably because I'm the only girl around here and he's confused, I don't have the heart to tell him different."

He tightened his suspenders, took a step forward and then with more force than he intended pulled the child from her arms and set him on his feet.

"Race take him."

"Come on kid." Racetrack patted Eamon on the back and he scurried after him like a lost puppy.

As he walked with the kid out of sight he looked behind him at the tension laying thick in the air between Spot and this girl he knew nothing about.

Once Racetrack was out of earshot Spot turned his clear blue eyes back towards her. His jaw flexed as he tensed up, not wanting to frighten her but needing to make sure she understood what he was about to say, "This ain't the orphanage Marie…you can't pull that shit here. Do you know why?"

She tried not to show she was intimidated but it was proving difficult, "…No."

He moved closer to her as he spoke, the tone in his voice increasing in severity with every step he took, "He won't survive very long here if you coddle him like that. I'm the one who took him in, do you know what that means?"

Angry now that he was being so condescending she met his eyes with her own, rooted to the ground where she stood, " _Stop it_."

"It means I'm responsible for him. If something happens to _him_ that's on _ME_."

Her voice was louder than she intended it to be when she answered him, shaking with hurt and anger, _"STOP IT! STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE I'M ONE OF THEM."_

Frantically she looked around to make sure no one heard her yell at him. It didn't look like anyone did and for that she was _very_ grateful.

His eyes were wide and his nostrils were starting to flare. He very much regretted in this moment the vow he made a long time ago to never hit a woman. He knew too that he'd never forgive himself if he ever lay a hand on her.

"I'm _not_ one of _them…'_ she wanted to reach out and touch him, bring him back to some sense of the reality they once shared, but thought better of it and only walked closer, hoping no one else would hear, ' _They only know Spot…_ ' she searched his eyes, inches from her own, looking for a trace of the person she once knew, "…I know Gabriel."

It was the first time he'd heard his real name uttered in ten years. Which would make sense given that was the last time he saw her and she was the only one who ever called him by his real name.

The sun beat down on them both as he tried very hard to quell his temper long enough to say something back to her. The fear had subsided in her face as she watched his every move, the hitch in his breathing, the way his forearm muscles tensed as he tried to control himself. Such effort for her sake could only mean he still cared for her too…right?

Acutely aware that if they stayed where they were any longer others would start to notice, he started to look around, breaking eye contact with her. Still looking around them he spoke directly to her, "Ya know I took you in too…that means you're my responsibility as much as anyone else here is,' his eyes met hers again, ' _more_ than anyone else here is...'

She felt paralyzed as she felt the weight of his words settle like a rock against her chest.

He looked away from her again, "If that ain't enough for you to understand what I'm tryin' to say…" he looked back at her and narrowed his eyes.

She knew exactly what he was trying to say. That he cared for her. And in their world that wasn't as simple as it was for other people.

"It means I either listen to you, or—

Or you get the fuck out of my borough."

Her jaw clenched at the harshness in his words and he not so subtly scanned her face looking for signs of weakness. The years apart had made him harder, he needed to make sure she was harder too.

Her expression became unreadable and she nodded slightly, the thick scar on her cheek suddenly more noticeable as the light from the sun shone down on them both.

It was not in her nature to obey. But the crack in his armor was beginning to show. And she was much too eager to discover if that crack existed for her and her alone. If it did, perhaps she would make an exception to that pesky nature of hers.

Ж

 **A/N:** Thank you so much for the reviews! I changed the title of this story from "Where Others Fear to Tread" to "Gabriel". Looking forward to continuing to write this story, I swear it's haunted me since junior high that there was never a Newsies Sequel made. Le sigh.


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